


In A Name

by ScopesMonkey



Series: Sugarverse [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScopesMonkey/pseuds/ScopesMonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tries to guess Sherlock's middle name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In A Name

**Author's Note:**

> This is total and unadulterated fluff and I've taken creative liberties in coming up with Sherlock's middle name - as far as I know, he has no canon middle name so I just picked one I liked and that I thought went well with his first name.
> 
> Update: just as an FYI, I'm not changing this to reflect his show-canon name. Since Sugarverse is only series 1 compliant, I'm keeping his name series 1 compliant as well.

“What are you doing?”

Sherlock’s voice was slightly muffled by the fact that he had his face buried in John’s side. John had his laptop open on a pillow resting on his legs, his left arm propped on Sherlock’s temple in a way that would probably be uncomfortable for the detective if Sherlock felt discomfort.

“Updating my blog.”

His arm was dislodged suddenly by Sherlock sitting up quickly, propping himself on his forearms.

“About what?” the detective asked sharply.

“Relax,” John laughed.  “The case you did last week.”

Sherlock gave him a suspicious glare and John pointed to his screen.

“See?”

Sherlock shifted in the bed so he could crane his neck and look over his shoulder at a very awkward angle. He narrowed his eyes, then rolled onto his back with a sigh and shuffled up, to lean half against John’s arm, half against the headboard.

“Like I said,” John told him, nodding at the screen.

“Good,” Sherlock said. “You’re not to write about us shagging.”

John laughed, again turning his head to press a kiss against Sherlock’s temple, getting a faceful of hair instead but kissing the dark curls anyway.

“There are plenty of porn sites for those who want them, Sherlock,” he replied and Sherlock shot him a dark glare that made him laugh. “Besides, I want you all to myself. I don’t want to share.”

“Greedy,” Sherlock commented with a grin quirking on his lips.

“How many other people can say they’re shagging the world’s only consulting detective?” John asked. “None.”

“None that you know of.”

John rolled his eyes.

“Just for that, I should post about it. Let’s see, what did you say? How many ‘o’s do you think are in the way you moaned ‘John’?”

“Don’t you dare!” Sherlock hissed, reaching over to snag the laptop and John whisked it aside, laughing.

“Not a chance,” he agreed. “You’re all mine.”

“Greedy, as I said.”

“Mm, yes, but it’s worth it.”

Sherlock kissed him and John settled the laptop back on his legs, kissing back.

“Although I will admit to no desire to share you, either.”

“So we’re both greedy. That works out. We’re on even footing.”

Sherlock snuggled against him and John lifted his arm so that his partner could rest against his chest. John could type one handed – in fact, he couldn’t type properly at all, so pecking at the keyboard with one hand was not so much slower than doing so with two hands. And he really just had to finish the last sentence and post the entry, so it took a few minutes at most. Sherlock played with John’s left hand idly, interlacing their fingers, while John finished his post.

“Why the ‘H’?” he asked after John had published the short write-up about an art theft case they had taken for a private collector right before Christmas. He’d postponed actually writing about it so that they could celebrate Christmas together – the first Christmas they’d known each other and their first as partners. The week between Christmas and New Year’s was a lazy one, but it was also the first time he could appreciate it since he’d come back from Afghanistan.

“Why John H. Watson?” Sherlock continued. “It’s not as though anyone calls you that. Or even ‘John Hamish’.”

“How did you know Hamish was my middle name?” John asked.

“Checked your ID,” Sherlock said, kissing his palm.

“Of course you did,” John replied with a roll of his eyes. “Anyway, there have got to be hundreds of John Watsons out there. Probably even other Doctor John Watsons.”

“Yes, and there are probably also other John Hamish Watsons, although likely far fewer Doctor John Hamish Watsons,” Sherlock oh-so-kindly pointed out.

“Yeah but we can’t all be named ‘Sherlock’," John said with a grin. “Which, by the way, why ‘Sherlock’? I looked it up, you know. It means ‘fair haired’. Did you have light hair when you were born?”

“No, John,” Sherlock said, snuggling down a bit further so that said hair tickled John’s chest. “I’ve always had dark hair, like my mother. I was named after her father.”

“Did _he_ have light hair?”

“No.”

John shook his head, planting another kiss in Sherlock’s inappropriately dark hair – on the top of his head this time.

“Well it makes me feel slightly more unique to have the ‘H’ in there.”

Sherlock tilted his head back, arching his long neck, to look up at John.

“Why would you need to feel more unique? You _are_ unique, John.”

John smiled and leaned over somewhat awkwardly to kiss those exceedingly kissable lips.

“So says the world’s only consulting detective.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t unique, but that you also are.”

John closed his laptop with a chuckle and set it aside, wrapping his arms around Sherlock.

“Let’s have it, then,” he said. “What’s your middle name?”

“What, you haven’t stolen my identification to check?”

“Mm, no. I don’t rifle through your belongings as much as you do mine. I prefer the traditional way of finding out – by asking. I know it’s a bit of a foreign concept to you–”

He cut himself off with a yelp when Sherlock pinched his arm. He retaliated by tugging sharply on Sherlock’s curls and Sherlock snatched his hand away, holding it tightly until John relaxed, laughing, then kissing John’s fingers one by one.

“So, go on, what’s your middle name, Sherlock Holmes?”

Sherlock didn’t answer immediately and John freed his hand, running his fingers through his partner’s thick, loose curls.

“I could call Mycroft…” John murmured.

Sherlock huffed.

“Now where would be the fun in that?” he replied. “You know my methods, John. Use them.”

“You want me to deduce your middle name?” John asked.

“Why not? You’re quite clever.”

“Yes, but I have thousands of English names to choose from – presuming it’s English to begin with.”

“It’s English, which does narrow it down, actually.”

“Not by much.”

“I’d say by a significant amount. While other western European languages may have variants on the same names, languages that are distantly related have their own unique names based on their own histories and language structure.”

“What, since when do you know so much about languages?”

“Not all criminals speak English, John.”

“Well, no,” John admitted. “But you’re not going to surprise me by telling me you speak Arabic or Japanese, are you?”

“Not at the moment. I’ve never had occasion to learn.”

“Just English and French for you.”

“And German.”

“You speak German?”

“ _Ja_.”

“I didn’t know that. When did you learn to speak German?”

“In university.”

“What, did that French not-boyfriend of yours teach you that, too?”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend.”

“That’s why I said ‘not-boyfriend’. And quit dodging my questions. What’s your middle name?”

“I _told_ you to apply my methods! I know you were there for that part of the conversation because I’m sitting quite comfortably against you and would have noticed had you moved and while you sometimes have a tendency to speak without thinking, you generally don’t do so when you want something.”

“Thanks… I think.”

Sherlock gave him an expectant look and John sighed.

“Right, okay,” he agreed. “English, fine. Let’s see… Well, is it William, after your father?”

“Excellent guess. But no. That’s Mycroft’s middle name.”

“Mycroft William? Really?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Huh,” John said, thinking about that. “… Sibyl?”

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow.

“Just checking. It’s not something boring, like John, is it?”

“John is not a boring name. I happen to think it’s a rather brilliant name, actually. But no. No one has ever described any of my names as boring.”

“You _do_ have a middle name, right? This isn’t some sort of wild goose chase?”

“Yes, John, I have a middle name. And only one.”

“All right, well… something not boring. Achilles?”

Sherlock huffed.

“I’m not going to play if you’re just going to be silly,” he muttered and John laughed, running some of the dark curls through his fingers again.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try and be serious. Let me think. Paul?”

“John! Boring.”

“George?”

“No.”

“Ringo?”

“ _What?_ ”

John laughed again and then hissed when Sherlock elbowed him in the ribs.

“All right, all right. Well, what about Charles? That’s fairly traditional, right?”

“Not Charles.”

“Um… David?”

“No, John.”

“Rumpelstiltskin?”

Sherlock gave John one of the blank stares he so favoured when he did not at all understand a reference.

“I’m sorry?” he asked, genuine confusion in his grey eyes.

“Never mind,” John said with a grin. “Is it… Sheldon?”

“You honestly think my name is Sherlock Sheldon?”

“Well give me _some_ hint other than that it’s English!”

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes.

“It begins with an ‘A’,” he replied.

“Thank you,” John said with feeling. “That helps.” He hesitated then started to reach for his laptop and Sherlock snatched his wrist, giving him a warning look.

“No cheating.”

“You use the internet all the time!”

“To solve crimes.”

“And to steal information about people!”

“ _Find_ information, John, not steal. But you don’t get to.”

“And why not?”

“Because I say so.”

John sighed but relaxed his arm, letting it fall away from his computer.

“Alexander?”

“No.”

John traced his fingertips down Sherlock’s bare upper arm and then back up again, feeling the definition of the muscles under the alabaster skin.

“Well, you are very pale,” he said. “Alban? It means white, if I remember right.”

Sherlock snorted.

“I hardly think the colour of my skin is the same as it was when I was born, John.”

“Well, babies are pretty messy when they’re born, that’s true. And newborns tend to be very pink. But I don’t know of any names that start with ‘A’ that mean pink.”

“It’s not Alban.”

“Arthur? Andrew? Alastair? Aaron? Adam?”

“No to all of those.”

John sighed.

“You know, we could be here all day,” he said.

“I see nothing wrong with that,” Sherlock replied. “Unless you’d like your question to go unanswered.”

“I really could call Mycroft.”

“Hmm, yes, if you do I’ll give you a list of things about which I need to speak to him and you can pass them on.”

John snorted.

“What am I, your secretary?”

“Not at all. If you’re going to talk to Mycroft, I may as well take advantage of it.”

“Fine, you win. Let me think… Adrian?”

“Hardly.”

“Um, um, um,” John said.

“Am, am, am,” Sherlock replied.

“What?”

“I’m giving you another hint, John. Not ‘um’ but ‘am’.”

“Oh! Uh… Ambrose?”

“What kind of name is that? Isn’t that some sort of Greek mythological reference?”

“You’re thinking of ambrosia, Sherlock. Ambrose is a perfectly valid name. Served with a bloke in Afghanistan named Ambrose. He was a communications specialist.”

“I don’t see why that’s important,” Sherlock said, then yelped when John pinched him this time.

“All right. Well, I can’t really think of anything starting with ‘am’. Hmm.”

He fell silent, chewing on his lower lip absently, trying to run through names. This was harder than he thought and trust Sherlock’s parents to have come up with something unusual. After all, they’d picked “Mycroft” and “Sherlock”. John felt it was slightly unfair that Mycroft’s middle name was so simple. But then again, simple wasn’t a word that was ever applied to Sherlock.

“Amery?” John asked, fully expecting another no.

What he got instead was one of Sherlock’s bright, triumphant smiles.

“What, really?” John demanded, shocked that he’d actually stumbled upon the right one. “Sherlock Amery?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, raising his arm and putting a hand on John’s head to pull him down for a kiss.

“Really?” John asked again, grinning. “I got it right?”

Sherlock’s grey eyes danced.

“With some assistance.”

“But not from Mycroft,” John pointed out. Sherlock rolled his eyes but his smile stayed wide and bright.

“True,” he conceded.

“Sherlock Amery Holmes. I like it. Where did they get that from?”

“Amery is my paternal grandfather’s name. My father’s full name is William Amery Holmes.”

“So you’re named after both your grandfathers?”

“Yes, obviously.”

“Touch sentimental, isn’t it?”

Sherlock shrugged.

“It’s what’s done,” he replied. “Beside, I know you were named after your father and your mother’s father, so it’s not really so surprising.”

John chuckled. He didn’t point out that it was probably more surprising for William and Sibyl Holmes, on whom sentimentality stuck like oil on water.

“Well,” Sherlock said. “You have solved the mystery of my middle name, you know when my birthday is and you know how I take my coffee.”

“And maybe one or two other things.”

“Mm, perhaps. But now what?”

“Can I blog about it?” John asked.

“Certainly not,” Sherlock sniffed. “That knowledge was hard earned, John. You can’t just go distributing it on the Internet for anyone to access. There’s no way of knowing how the information would be used.”

“What, someone’s going to misuse your middle name? How?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said. “I’m suggesting we don’t give anyone the opportunity to find out. However–” he shifted in John’s embrace, sitting up and turning to face his partner, pulling John into a soft kiss. “I would quite like to test what you do with the name when given the proper incentive. Shall we conduct an experiment?”

John grinned.

“By all means,” he replied and pushed his laptop aside before reaching out to pull Sherlock down with him and into a deeper kiss.


End file.
